Spider
by Ms.Monkeyman
Summary: Sherlock has a mission. A mission which lives depend on; which John's life depends on. And he will not fail.
1. Timothy and James

This is the Prologue to an idea I had. Read and Review. :)  
Disclaimer: I do not own.

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My twin brother and I have been told through our adolescent years, by various renowned experts in the field hired by our father, that we have this... this Antisocial Personality Disorder. At age fifteen I had my fill of pointless efforts to "help us" as they put it. Jim was having a bit of fun tormenting the psychologists and doctors, but it was an utter waste of my time. So I spent the months between our fifteenth and sixteenth birthday learning everything there was to know about my father, especially his Business Empire.

For our sixteenth birthday, I gave Jim the left side of our dear father's brain. I kept the right side as a token for myself. Although Jim appreciated the gift, he was angry that I did not let him have any part of the fun. So I told him to have at it with the chef and her help. I always found the stew salty in any case.

Jim spent two weeks entertaining them in the cellar. I spent that time taking over my father's company since he so generously left it to us in his will. A few well placed bills and a nice dramatic, sappy and inspired speech to the board was enough to silence their doubts and get things moving. My solicitor took care of the more tedious paperwork. Naturally my new position in the business world was kept quiet. The press was feed some story about the board running the company until Jim and I were an appropriate age. They completely disregarded that fact that we could legally take over since we were already sixteen. Even I understood that the general masses would frown upon two sixteen year olds running a massive enterprise like M Tech. Not to mention what would happen to our shares.

From then on, Jim and I completed our education with the help of various tutors while running our company. We decided to go to University to see what it was like. Really, it was Jim's idea but the poor boy did not want to go alone. Who was I to deny my dear brother? Naturally, I studied business and philosophy, while Jim studied computer science and technology. And then, of course, we shared our knowledge with each other. Imagine my surprise when Jim tells me he took drama courses; even considered it as a minor. But it made sense, Jim rather does love action.

It was in our second year when work got a bit more fun. I took a risk. I don't normally, but it was tempting and there was so much potential. And the reward was great and it was so ridiculously easy. Everybody wanted drugs. So who were we to deny them? It was demand and supply just as the balding professor monotonously repeated every single class. So simple. Jim and I were quick studies in that market. We tried some, but it was rather nauseating. So we sold it instead. We could only go up from there.

Our business expanded into more lucrative exploits and we sat back and reaped the rewards. We appointed a figurehead to run M Tech while we worked behind the scenes and under the tables. Jim's drama minor finally proved itself useful to me. I can still remember Jim's smug smile. It was a Kodak moment. My twin brother can be so cute sometimes. Eventually we had a hand in all the crime syndicates that mattered in Ireland, and controlled the rest. We continued at it for years. We played the people splendidly. But then it started getting boring, repetitive. Tedious.

Thankfully, Jim (god bless his sweet soul) suggested we branch further. Say, London? How ambitious, I think. But Jim was always quite the reckless one. We tried.

We almost succeeded.

I had already had plans in place to branch further from London but then they were ruined, by a rookie up-and-coming government lackey no less. We were so close! The humiliation still burns my face every time I think about it. Poor Jim had to be bailed out of jail for quite a hefty sum since he was the face of that operation. My dear brother, caged in with those repulsive, common criminals thanks to this Mycroft Holmes. I was angry. I was in an absolute rage because that had not been a part of the plan. But we learned from that. I knew when to say I lost. Jim and I cut our losses and retreated to Ireland to regroup and start again. Mycroft came close, too close. He would pay.

The game was just beginning.

We decided to circumvent London for the while and keep our eyes on things there while we progressed. I then went to France while Jim travelled to Portugal. It was the first time we were apart, but we are no sentimental fools. Four years later we were both in Norway. We were right on schedule. It was a day in June when Jim showed me the website, the Science of Deduction, by one, Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes. We haven't spoken that word in years. Mycroft was still a sore spot for me despite Jim's assurances that I will get to burn him soon. It could never be soon enough. Mycroft has a brother. It was shocking, to say the least, that I overlooked that bit of information. I was ashamed of my lack of diligence, especially for something so crucial. Bless my dear brother Jim for finding this. It was only natural that I let him play with this new toy first. After all, he was the one to discover it. With many of my cautions in mind, Jim set of for London once again while I stayed in London to conduct our business. It would set us behind schedule in Norway, but we at least got a head start in London.

It was twenty-two months and twelve days later when I receive a call from a Sebastian Moran saying Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty is dead. My brother. Dead.

It will never be soon enough Mycroft.

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Hope you liked it! R & R


	2. Chapter 1

Well. I had this idea bouncing around in my head for so long that it gave me a headache. Hope you like it but at this point I'm not sure where its going or how its gonna get there. Constructive Critique much appreciated. Flames warm my toes.

Be Warned: There is offensive language in this. And slightly morbid themes. Thats why its rated M. There will probably be more reasons why in the later chapters.

If you don't like it. Don't read it.

Disclaimer: I do not own. Only in my dreams

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Elias Fin was one of the best in his trade. His short stature and medium build combined with his awkward features, allowed him to pass under the radar of many suspicious eyes. As a professional assassin, these features proved useful for quick getaways, and blending into crowds with total ease.

The man with the Hawaiian t-shirt and khaki shorts, on the other hand, was ill-suited to such tasks. His tourist clothes clashed horribly with the bags under his eyes and the wary tense way he held himself. This combined with his tall build, distinguished cheek-bones and over all obtrusive presence made it easy for one as skilled as Elias to quickly realize he was following him.

Elias slowed his gait at a near-by stall feigning interest in his wares as he evaluated this possible threat to his person. Had it been four months ago, he would have ignored this guy as a tired tourist. But four months ago was the start of his bout of paranoia, when he failed to get in touch with his contact, 'Ex', concerning a small shipment of drugs for 'Zee'. A bit of investigating had lead Elias to body of his contact lying limp in his recliner, foaming at the mouth. The delayed package had been open on a table nearby and a needle hung from Ex's limp hand. He had figured the man's own idiocy and addiction finally killed him. So he had simply told Zee the drugs were not coming and left, pushing the slight suspicion to the back of his mind. After all, lots of people die from overdose in these circles.

Elias tensed as his stalker paused at the stand beside him. He immediately took notice of the outline of a handgun at small of the man's back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man pick up a bracelet, ignoring the vendor as he repeated, "Muito bom, muito barato!" Elias inwardly scoffed. The vendor was wasting his breath since this tourist wasn't here for some stupid trinket.

The man bought two anyways. A red and a blue bracelet were stored in his back pocket. As he turned to look at the stand across, they locked eyes for but a brief second. It only took that one second to confirm Elias' suspicions. For Elias realized those haunted blue eyes were those of a predator. And he was the prey.

Two months ago, Eu informed him of the death of two of his associates. They were not supposed to speak of the identity of their associates or contacts to others. It was a part of the rules of The System. But Eu was never one to follow rules, in fact, neither was Elias. He had not yet heard from a replacement for Ex, so he passed a warning on to Zee. Not for the first time, Elias cursed the rules of The System. Obviously something serious had gone down but he had no clue what, nor was he in a position to find out. Ex and Eu was his avenue to intel on The System. But one was dead and the other was a dead-end.

It was a week ago when Zee informed Elias of the death of his last contact. Elias tuned from the stall he was facing and started down the street, back the way he came. He was hyper aware of the man, once again following him, as the hair at the nape of his neck stood on ends. This man was probably the one picking them off one by one and staging them as accidents. Elias walked quickly and turned the corner. Making sure the man couldn't see him, he turned down an alleyway and pressed himself close to the wall. Elias was no easy prey.

Just as his stalker passed the opening of the alley, Elias reached out, grabbed the man's arm and twisted it behind his back. He wanted some answers. He was holding the man's own gun to his head and roughly pushed him into the wall opposite.

"Who are you?" Elias demanded lowly, pointing the gun to the man's temple while the man craned his head towards the opening of the alley. He was not struggling to get out of Elias' hold on him. And he did not say anything. The strained silence lasted for all but half a minute as Elias got impatient. "Who the fuck are you?!" he repeated.

"That is not important." The stranger's baritone voice rumbled through the alley way, slightly muffled by the wall.

Elias felt some hysteria seep into his mind. This creep was acting as if there was no gun pointed to his head. "It is important when you are killing my people and following me around!" He nearly shouted. Elias checked himself as adrenaline coursed through his blood. He cocked back the safety. "Tell me who you are or I will shoot you in the head." His voice was now steady.

"I really don't think you can." His clam British accent was grating on Elias' nerves.

"What the fuck do you know? Think I won't shoot? I am sure you know I've killed for a lot less than this. Answer my question."

"A lot." The man's eyes remained on the street beyond the alley.

"What?" the non-sequitur caused Elias to pause. He unknowingly loosened his grip.

"You asked what 'the fuck' do I know. I answered; a lot. Much much more than you would ever know. For example, I know you can't shoot me in the head."

The surety of the man's statement shook Elias' confidence. But the man had to be bluffing. With a jab of the gun he demanded, "Why the fuck won't I?"

"Because you're –"the man stopped mid-sentence as Elias chocked behind him. He grabbed the gun back as his arm was completely released. Elias' stalker rolled his shoulders and shook his dark curls, recovering from his short-lived detainment. He turned with a dramatic flair and looked down. Elias Fin was on the ground with a knife sticking out of his neck. Thick red blood was pooling around his body. "Dead." The man concluded.

He pompously stepped over the body and turned to the boy who entered the alley way seconds before. As he walked towards him he pulled fifty euro's from his wallet. The boy nodded his head in the negative.

"No Mr. Sherlock, just the chance to get revenge on that killer was enough. My family will now rest in peace." The boy said in a heavy Portuguese accent. Despite his words, Sherlock folded the boy's calloused fingers around the bill. "You have done me a great favour Edward. Have dinner, on me." Sherlock left Edward to his own devices and returned to the crowded streets of Lisbon. He passed the stall where he bought the bracelets just as a woman wearing a low-cut vest and jean shorts seamless joined him from the crowd.

"That was quite a risk you took." She said nonchalantly. Her Gucci glasses glinted in the sun a top her head, her alluring eyes taking in the scenery.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her. "Irene." His tone did nothing to hide his annoyance.

"You could have died if Elias pulled the trigger when he was hit."

"Were you not supposed to be resting?" Sherlock asked, looking pointedly at the bandages peeping out from under her top. She had been sliced severely by their last target and was confined to bed rest as Sherlock took care of Elias.

"That was boring. So I followed you while you followed him." She vulgarly jerked her head in the general direction of the now cooling body.

Sherlock sighed and reached into his pocket. "I got this for you." He pulled out a red stone bracelet. "A gift."

"A gift?" she eyed him curiously.

"Is that not what friends do?" his disconcerting stare landed on her.

"Right. Yes. Yes, thank you Sherlock." She took the cheap trinket and put it on her wrist.

"And you should know by now, I do not take unnecessary risks." Irene studied his blank face for a moment.

"The gun wasn't loaded then." She concluded. Sherlock merely gave her a look that said she was stating the obvious.

They walked back to Irene's flat in companionable silence. Once they got in Irene headed to the plush sofa and lay down delicately. Sherlock went to the collection of papers in what Irene dubbed 'His Corner'. She had forced him keep all his work related things in one area because "really, Sherlock, I don't know how John could stand to live in such a sty with you."

He shifted through the piles looking for a mobile. One which previously belonged to the man prepared to snipe John nearly seven months ago.

"So now that you're done here in Portugal, where are you going next?" Irene asked. She was shifting restlessly on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. Sherlock idly wondered why she didn't just go to her bed.

"I should head back to London; see if Mycroft found anything interesting yet." He found the mobile he was looking for and started scrolling through the contents even though he already knew all he would find. There were only two contacts in the phone-book one named Moran and the other named Sid. Tracking down Sid lead him to Portugal, The System and Irene, who had cautioned him against Moran. Apparently he was Moriarty's right hand man. Spying on Sid, which was by far no easy task, revealed the web people Moriarty had under his thumb in Portugal. And how to dismantle it.

Sherlock would grudgingly admit The System was pure genius. It had been tedious to figure it out and take it down without alerting anyone of import. Everyone involved had a minimum of two contacts and those contacts had contacts. The beauty of it was nobody knew who was beyond their immediate reach. Maintaining complete confidentiality. One might think a bunch of law breakers wouldn't stick to the rules, but Moriarty choose well, in most cases. It didn't hurt to include a few innocents in the web. One banker who could not afford his wife's medicine here, one real estate agent weighed down by debt there. And behold; rival gangsters communicating with each other and prominent business associates with questionable morals are giving access to a whole new world. And most importantly Jim could use all their combined resources with the ease of one call.

Sherlock was broken out of his thoughts by a snort coming from the sofa. "Yes, well good luck not getting spotted." Irene said. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible," Was the prompt reply.

"Right. Of course you would want to get back to John. It's been six months since you last saw him." Irene looked at him, a smirk painted on her face, her eyes playfully mocking him. "Oh. But he thinks you're dead. What I would do to be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation."

"I am not going to contact John. His current show of grief is what convinces Moriarty's remaining eyes of my death. I have to be sure I am done with this job." Sherlock stood. "I'll be going now. I appreciated your help here." He picked up a nondescript case from his Corner and walked to the door. Irene sat up in silence as Sherlock opened the door and looked back with a silent farewell.

Minutes after the door closed behind him Irene placed a hand on her healing wound in grim contemplation. As Sherlock walked away from the Irene's flat towards London, he heard a muffled "Good luck."

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Well that's all for now folks! Hope you liked it. Please Read and Review. :D


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